


Silent Stranger

by scifishipper



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Epic BFFs Spock & McCoy, Jim Kirk's Alternative Life, Lost Identity, M/M, Recalled Trauma, Romance, Telepathic injury, physical injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-21 08:32:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11353743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scifishipper/pseuds/scifishipper
Summary: Spock, retired from Starfleet due to a grave telepathic injury, finds relief living in an isolated oceanside cottage. His peaceful life is disturbed one day when he discovers a mysterious man clinging to life on the rocky coast. Now, with the help of his friend Doctor Leonard McCoy, he must find way to help this compelling stranger recover his identity and keep him safe from those who tried to take his life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely inspired by the synopsis for the novel, _Lost Identity_ by Leona Karr. So many thanks to lanalucy for the beta. Thanks also to the mods for running the T'hy'la Big Bang!  <3<3

While not enamored with the feeling of water against his skin, Spock could admit to a fascination with the undulating currents and wave patterns of the water systems on Earth. This particular view, watching the sunrise over the Atlantic Ocean after an evening storm, was enchanting. He experienced it twofold: one as a scientist and one as a human observer. He cataloged the data he received through his six senses, comparing this sunrise to the many he had witnessed before. He noted the variations in color as the pinkish-red seeped into the horizon, the windspeed as he estimated its effect on the waves and grasses sprouting on the dunes. He had no particular reason to collect data, it was just something he had always done. It was the Vulcan way.

What he had learned to do in the past four years of residing near the Atlantic Ocean, was to enjoy the beauty of the water, the sunrise, the variety and power of Earth’s cycles. To experience it as a human would. Or at least a half-human half-Vulcan such as himself. This meant observing himself as part of the ecosystem, his actions and reactions, and the _feelings_ the vista generated inside him. This morning, he felt a sense of calm, a blissfully quiet mind, a mild dependence on the familiarity of his routine of observing sunrise, a faint feeling of cold and hunger. There was another feeling lurking, one that he had noticed before but could not identify. It was a vague feeling of loss or of something missing. Spock suspected it was related to his self-imposed isolation, but a part of it remained a mystery. So, as he normally did, he simply waited, observed, and cataloged. 

As was also his routine, Spock began to walk south along the sand as the sun emerged a paler glowing ball above the water. The temperature had decreased three point six degrees from the day before and he zipped up his jacket to maintain his warmth.

The beach was empty for half a kilometer ahead of him as he approached the remains of an old dock. The weathered wooden piles jutted at odd angles out of the water. Large rocks, some with a greenish tinge, stood above of the waves, created whirling eddies around them as the water crashed. He found the rotting structure a fitting landscape for the weathered houses dotting the shore. This part of shore, so sought after in modern times for the coastal views, had been protected against development for more than a century. No new buildings could be erected and nothing was to be disturbed. Spock enjoyed observing the slow return to the natural environment as wind, water, and time took their toll.

Spock paused to look out toward the far horizon to follow a large shipping vessel as it slowly crawled up the coastline. He imagined its path to a dock in New York or New Jersey where it would disgorge its cargo. From this distance he could not surmise if it was an oil tanker or container vessel. This morning he had decided to leave his binocular scanner in the house, wishing to observe with his innate senses only. 

As the ship trawled up the coast, he continued to walk in the opposite direction. He took two steps and paused, his eye catching on a white billowing fabric against one of the short wooden piles. He stepped closer and gasped. A body rested against one of the lower rocks, a matted blond head, two pale arms resting flaccid against the dark stone. A human male?

Spock splashed his way toward the body, mindful of the slippery rocks and other obstacles hidden under the surf. 

He spoke loudly, “Hello? Can you hear me?” He sensed no emotions or thoughts from the man as he approached.

Reaching the body, he knelt and placed a hand on his shoulder. The skin was cold but the man was alive. Spock felt the familiar thrum of human life, although he emitted no other thoughts or emotions, not unexpected for a gravely injured human. Spock positioned himself firmly and reached under the man’s shoulders to pull him up and out of the water. The man did not stir as Spock turned him and repositioned his body to lift him onto his shoulder. He was not too heavy to carry, but the rocks and waves made Spock’s balance somewhat less firm than he would have liked. 

Glancing down, Spock saw no other remnants of the man’s presence and picked his way carefully back to the shore. He thought of laying the man down to examine him further, but determined that he would have to pick him up again to carry him to safety. Spock had no comm with him and preferred not to leave the man unattended.

Spock carried him the kilometer and a half to the sand walkway that led to his house. Once inside he gently laid the man on the sofa on the sunroom and arranged a blanket around him. He noticed the sharp angles of his pale face, bruised and cut, but Spock could see the handsomeness lurking beneath. 

Spock checked his pulse again and left the room to get his comm.

“McCoy,” came the gruff response Spock expected.

“Leonard. I have recovered a human male from the ocean near my home. Can you please come to my residence?”

“You what now?” McCoy asked.

“I have recovered a human male —” 

“Yeah, I got that part. Is he alive?” McCoy cut him off to ask.

“Of course. You are a doctor who tends to living patients, no?” Spock had learned to verbally fence with Leonard over the years. After many strategies had failed, it appeared that sarcasm was the most expedient way to communicate with the man.

“Dammit, Spock. Why didn’t you take him to the hospital?”

“I believe your skills superior to ‘those hacks at Kisme Medical Center,’ as you once described them. Have I made an error?” Spock smirked as he spoke. Once understood, Doctor Leonard Horatio McCoy was a simple being to motivate.

“Ah, Christ, Spock. Fine. I’ll come down.” The line clicked silent.

Spock quickly changed out of his wet clothing and brought his PADD to sit in the sunroom with the unconscious human to await Leonard’s arrival. The man’s position had not changed and he remained as Spock had left him. He noted the increased warmth of the man’s body due to the blanket, as he gently patted the man’s clothing to look for a wallet or identifying materials. Finding nothing, Spock stepped back. He thought of stripping away his wet clothing, but preferred to wait for Leonard.

With a few commands on his PADD, Spock accessed the missing persons reports for the likely areas where a man could have survived to find himself upon Spock’s beach. The probable range was sixteen point seven kilometers. Most of the reports involved underage females, and several species known to be popular among traffickers. No man seemed to match the one he saw in front of him. 

He surmised the man was in his early thirties, possibly military by the cut of his hair and sturdy musculature. His clothing was indistinct — a loose white shirt and dark trousers. He wore no shoes or socks, but sported callouses that could be related to heavy boots of some kind. The man’s nails were short and tidy, save two purple fingers which appeared to be broken. Spock counted twenty-seven bruises and fourteen cuts and scrapes visible on his face, arms, and lower legs. He predicted many more on his torso, back, and thighs. This man had been severely beaten before he had been dumped into the ocean. It was a miracle he had survived.

Spock continued his search for missing persons and scanned through police reports from the previous thirty-six hours. Spock had no estimate on the amount of time the man had been in the water, but given the ferocity of the storm last night, he could not imagine he’d been in the water too long before that. 

A sharp knocking sounded and Spock stood up to move toward the door. Leonard, grumbling to himself, was already into the kitchen when Spock arrived. Leonard’s emotions became louder and more discernible as he moved closer. 

“Where is he?” Leonard carried a black emergency kit and paused a few feet from Spock.

Spock stepped back to give the doctor a wide berth. “In the sunroom.”

“He wake up?” Leonard asked, emanating his typical emotional blend of curiosity, irritation, and compassion. 

“No. He has not stirred.” Spock breathed slowly, doing his best to block Leonard’s emotions from his oversensitive mind.

“All right. Let’s see.” Leonard stopped by the man and knelt on the rug next to the sofa. He pulled out his scanner and waved it slowly along the man’s body. The results flickered quickly by on the screen. 

“He’s pretty beat up, but he’ll make it.” Leonard sighed and opened his medical kit wider. He pulled out a hypo spray and several vials of medication.

“What are his injuries?” Spock asked from his position at the opposite side of the room.

“Bruised liver and spleen, four broken ribs, two broken fingers, and too many bruises to count. He’s got good vitals, although he’s dehydrated. Looks like he was in good shape, good diet, some old childhood fractures, but he’s gonna be sore for a long time. Should take care of this dislocated shoulder before he wakes up. Painful as hell.”

“Yes, doctor. Can I be of assistance?” 

“Yeah, let’s set the shoulder and I’ll get started on the rib fractures. I can speed up the healing, but we need to get him to a proper medical facility to get him back to full strength.”

“Would it be wise to wait until he is conscious?” Spock could not shake a feeling that revealing his identity might endanger him.

Leonard thought for a moment. “Yeah, he’ll be okay. He survived the worst of it, just have to keep an eye on the internal damage. Far as I can tell, there’s no bleeding, so he’s safe.”

Moving his bag back and away, Leonard instructed Spock how to help him reposition the shoulder. He did as instructed, still sensing nothing from the man, and stepped back once they'd accomplished their goal. Spock was surprised the man did not wake or rouse at all. Leonard also removed the man’s wet clothing. No other information about his identity could be gleaned from a surface examination and Leonard tucked an additional blanket around him. 

“When will he wake, doctor?” Spock asked as he placed the wet clothes into a bag for later examination.

“Not sure, Spock. His major brain functioning is fine, but with these kinds of injuries, his body will need as long as it needs. I could run more detailed scans, but again, I’d need better equipment.”

Spock shook his head immediately. “Then we will wait. It seems unwise to risk his assailants becoming aware he is alive.”

“Yeah, good call, Spock. I don’t imagine they thought he’d survive this.” Leonard shook his head and began scanning the man again. He grumbled several unintelligible things to himself as Spock retreated to the kitchen with his PADD to do more research.

~*~

Two hours later, Spock had prepared a small meal for the two of them and called Leonard to the kitchen. 

“Do you have any thoughts on who this man might be?” Spock inquired as he spooned pasta onto two plates.

“Nah. I agree, though, I think he’s military. He’ll wake up soon enough and then we’ll know.”

“Agreed. I am quite curious. It is unusual to discover an unconscious man on one’s morning walk. Four hundred and eleven consecutive days I have walked on the beach. Never has this happened before.” 

“Yeah. Pretty strange. You did find that broken-up boat about two years ago.” Leonard dug into his food with his usual gusto. “This is good, Spock.”

“Thank you, Leonard. I was not surprised to find the remnants of the Marie Lourdes, however. If you will remember, she had been reported lost and several other community members along with myself had mounted search for the small vessel.”

“Yeah. Shame about the kids. Stupid idiots need to check the satellite reports before they go gallivanting on the ocean.” Leonard got very angry when lives were ‘lost to stupidity’.

“Indeed.” Spock ate several bites of pasta before speaking again. “How is Joanna?

“Aw, she’s good.” Leonard’s face brightened. “Got a great part in the school musical. She wants you to come.”

“You know I would, of course…” Spock said, shrugging his shoulders slightly. He had been unable to attend public events for more than five years, a fact he had reconciled in his mind, but was difficult when it came to those he cared for. Joanna was one of those people.

“Yeah, I know. I’ll record it for you. We’ll have a movie night.” Leonard seemed unconcerned, but Spock sensed the usual sadness for Spock’s isolation. 

“Thank you, Leonard. I would enjoy that.” 

“So, how will you be when he wakes up? I’m guessing he’s flat right now? Quiet?”

“Yes. I am not certain, of course. I expect it will be difficult. I will manage, however. Fate has made this individual my responsibility.” Spock poured himself some more juice.

“You want me to take him to my place?” Leonard offered. 

“No, that will not be necessary. I do not wish to alarm Joanna. If you would like to stay, however, you are always a welcome guest.”

“Nah. I appreciate the offer, but I know me being here stresses you. I’m gonna finish this, give him another look, and then head home. Joanna’s going to be home from school soon enough.”

“I always appreciate your company, Leonard.” 

“Yeah, right.” The doctor chuckled. “Although it’s been good to see your face.”

~*~

Spock spent the next several hours meditating. His mind was fragile and had been so for five years and nineteen days. In that time, he had learned many techniques to ease the pain and confusion of his enhanced and uncontrollable telepathic abilities.

Slowly he pulled himself from the meditation, soothed and centered once more. He left his meditation room and went out onto the deck to observe the ocean. It was a familiar routine, grounding him in a place he found peace.

He watched the tide and several beachgoers frolicking in the waves. It was usual for the mid-afternoon and he enjoyed, from afar, the pleasure the ocean held for humans and other water-loving species. 

Turning, he went once again toward the sunroom to check on his guest. As he approached he sensed no emotions and surmised the man was still unconscious. Expecting he would rouse soon, Spock thought it wise to order additional human-preferred food items. He had no idea who this man was, but Spock had lived on Earth long enough to be familiar with human “comfort foods.” 

With his order complete, Spock took his PADD into the sunroom once again. The man had moved slightly, which Spock considered a good sign. Spock expected to experience the man’s emotions as he slowly emerged from his unconscious state. He was ready.

Another hour passed and the man shifted his position, groaning, and appearing to rouse briefly. Spock, to his surprise, sensed nothing from him. Compelled, Spock moved closer. The man’s breathing was irregular and his lips moved. Slowly, he became more awake, groaning and beginning to thrash in his sleep. Still nothing emanated from him — no emotions whatsoever. Spock recoiled, shocked, and reached for his comm.

When the doctor picked up, Spock spoke, “Leonard. He is waking but there is nothing. I sense nothing from him. I am uncertain what to do.” Spock stared at the human, waiting for Leonard to respond.

“What do you mean? Like nothing? Like he’s blank?” Leonard’s voice was curious. 

“That is correct. While unconscious, I expected to sense little. Now, however, he appears to be rousing and I sense nothing.”

“Can you read him? Touch him?”

“Without permission?” Spock still held to his Vulcan principles.

“He’s injured, man. He might have a deeper, more pervasive or subtler brain injury I missed. Damnit. I knew I should have taken him in for tests.”

“I apologize, Leonard. I was concerned for his safety, but perhaps I have erred.”

Leonard sighed. “No, Spock. It’s not you. I get it, and hell, I agreed.” There was a moment of silence. “Do you feel comfortable touching him?”

Spock stopped breathing for an instant. Then, “Yes. I can do that. Will you stay on the line?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Moving hesitantly, Spock reached toward the human and touched his arm, now thrust out of the covers and dangling with his fingers resting on the rug. He clasped with his full hand, feeling the relaxed muscle. 

“I sense his consciousness and a warm buzz. Something is amiss, Leonard. I have never experienced this with a human.”

“With a human?” the doctor asked. 

“Correct. Many other species, such as the Henari and the Balcot-Yew, do not emit emotions of any kind, and for other species, such as the Niimish or Hiquap, their thoughts are incomprehensible, even if received.”

“So what’s the difference here?”

“He’s human, is that not correct?” 

“Yeah. That’s what the tricorder says. Looks human, too. Listen, I’m coming over. This doesn’t make sense.”

“Leona—” The line went dead before he could protest.

Less than twenty minutes later, Leonard stormed into the house and Spock jerked in surprise at the onslaught of emotions: anger, confusion, determination, fear, and concern were most easily read. Deeper feelings, particularly worry about Spock, were also present and Spock retreated to the other side of the room, loathe to receive what he had no permission to sense.

“Shit,” Leonard said, glancing over his shoulder. “Sorry. I’ll tone it down.” The doctor took several breaths and calmed himself. Spock felt the easing of the emotional pressure and relaxed.

“All right, my friend,” Leonard said to the patient. “Let’s see what’s going on with you.”

From a second bag, Leonard pulled a piece of equipment and plugged it into the wall outlet. He flicked on the switch and the machine beeped. From an outside pocket, he withdrew a small sack containing a piece of rolled mesh. He gently shook his hand and it unfurled into something akin to a cap. Gently, Leonard fit the cap to the human’s head. 

“Now we’ll see what’s going on. This is a little old-fashioned, late-twenty-first century, but it works just fine.” Leonard turned to wink at him. “Good thing I have a soft spot for antique medical devices.”

Spock watched as the device began to scan, flashing a steady green light and emitting intermittent beeps which Leonard explained were different wave patterns being monitored. Leonard peered at a rectangle display in the center of the device and frowned. “Goddamnit, the display’s not working.” He hit the top of the machine several times, a common human solution to any technology in disrepair, but nothing changed.

“Well, it’s working but it doesn’t do me a lot of good if I can’t see it. Think you can rig this thing to my tricorder?”

Spock blinked. “I shall try, Leonard.” 

He quickly approached and took the device down to his office. As an engineer, he had many supplies to create and repair a variety of devices. While serving on the Enterprise with Captain Pike, he had once re-wired the main sickbay computer when a small fire had burned out the innards. 

Spock thought warmly of that interaction, one of his first with Leonard, the first, in fact, where the doctor had not simply glared at him. It had been the beginning of a ten year friendship, for which Spock was immensely grateful. Leonard had saved his life, and his sanity, many times over.

“How’s it coming?” Leonard shouted seventeen minutes later. “He’s starting to get agitated and I want to get readings before he wakes up. I think he’s going to be in pain.”

“A few more minutes, Doctor. I’ll be there soon.”

Spock finished creating the hybrid cable which would convert the signal from the old device into a compatible signal which could be read by the tricorder. He placed the mesh over his own head to test the results. His familiar jagged neural patterns emerged and he was satisfied the readings would be accurate enough for Leonard’s purposes.

As Spock emerged from his office, he sensed Leonard’s heightened emotional state and rushed forward to see Leonard holding the unconscious man’s hands folded across his middle.

“Hey now, calm down. You’re okay,” Leonard said with a soothing tone. 

“He is awake?” Spock peered at the man, surprised to see his eyes closed.

“He’s waking up but not there yet. That thing ready?” At Spock’s nod, he continued, “Give me the mesh and turn it on.”

Spock complied and eased back toward the windows to observe. The patient lay still while the the machine beeped and flashed feeding data to the tricorder. “Huh,” he said, then grunted a few more times before pulling the cap off.

“Much of his neural activity is normal. Elevated levels of endorphins and dopamine related to his body’s trauma. Sleep patterns normal. He’s showing theta waves, so I think we’ll see him wake up within the hour. As far as his emotions, I’m seeing flat lines in all kinds of areas that don’t make sense. It’s like someone selectively muted his emotions.” Leonard looked at Spock. “You’re the telepathy expert. Is this possible?” 

Spock shook his head. “Not that I am aware of. As you know, the best Vulcan mind healers were unable to dampen my telepathy without rendering me nonfunctional. The brain is far too complex to permit such tampering. I do not know how it is possible.”

“Well, our stranger here is going to have to answer some hard questions. He’s something out of a science fiction novel, I’ll say that. I’ve run a chemical scan for neural dampeners, the kind they tried on you, but there’s nothing in his system.”

“Then we must wait. Can you stay? Is Joanna all right?”

“Yeah, she’s fine. Marlowe is with her tonight. I usually work on Wednesdays, but I called off when you found Mister Mysterious here on the beach.”

“Thank you, Leonard. I shall leave you and continue my research. Perhaps Starfleet has developed something capable of this kind of brain intervention.”

“Well, it sure as hell would have been nice to know that when you got into trouble. Damn fools. You were the best officer in the whole damn service.”

“Perhaps, Leonard. But I cannot change what has transpired.” 

Leonard made a familiar face and Spock sensed his renewed grief. “Well, I don’t have to like it.”

~*~

Spock retreated to his position in the kitchen typing on his PADD. Several new scholarly articles emerged about the underlying potential of human telepathy. None offered the “holy grail” of human brain functioning, as he had come to understand the human phrasing, but many experiments had shown merit. Drugs, many dangerous, proved somewhat helpful in this pursuit. It made sense that a drug, possibly one being developed in secret, could do the opposite — dampen any part of the brain desired. 

As he saved several articles for later detailed reading, Spock reigned in an errant hope for his own recovery. He believed in the methods of Vulcan, widely researched and honed over thousands of years. It was doubtful human sciences would play a role in his unlikely recovery.

A sharp sound and a grunt caught Spock’s attention and he jumped up to run toward the sunroom. Leonard was lying on the floor groaning with the table lamp tipped over. Spock glanced around the room, but their patient was gone.

“Leonard! Are you injured?” Spock knelt at his side. Strong waves of pain and anger hit him.

“Soon as he opened his eyes he shoved me. I knocked the lamp down.” Leonard struggled to sit. “Where is he?” he asked and looked around. 

Noticing the open door, Spock answered. “He’s gone. Should I pursue?”

“Yes, damnit. I’m fine. Go after him. He’s got four broken ribs. He needs medical attention!” 

Spock ran out the door and looked around for clues as to a likely direction. The most obvious directions would lead to the beach or the street. Given the man’s likely military training, Spock surmised a different path and set along the edge of his property toward an area of denser vegetation. No doubt the man would want to stop and assess his injuries before deciding on a course.

Creeping quietly, Spock scanned the ground for disturbed leaves and rocks. Finding promising signs, he moved along, staying alert and keeping his body ready for action. 

He crossed a small open area leading into the high grasses then crouched under the branches of a tree. He paused, assessing his surroundings in all directions. The flash of movement caught his attention and he began his pursuit once more. Within ten meters, the man had disappeared once again. Spock approached carefully, leaning his torso forward to peer around the corner. 

In an instant, Spock was knocked into the sharp branches of a tree. He felt the skin on his face tear as the man shot past him in the direction from which he had just come. Spinning, Spock pursued, sure-footed and familiar with the property around his cottage.

At the edge of the beach, the man tripped and rolled down a dune. Spock followed, watching as the man popped up, holding his side and began a loping run. At this distance, Spock could see the pain on his face. With a readying inhale, Spock ran swiftly toward him.

On the open sand, several beachcombers paused to watch as Spock approached the stranger.

“Sir, please cease running. You are gravely injured.” 

The man groaned and began to run again only to fall and struggle to get up to run more. He made it only to his knees before Spock caught up with him.

Understanding his fear, Spock paused more than a meter away. “I will not harm you. Please cease your efforts; you are injuring yourself further.” 

With a heaving chest, the man turned, shocking Spock with the intensity of his blue eyes. “I don’t care. Get away from me.”

Even in distress, Spock sensed nothing from the human. “I will not harm you. Please allow me to assist you. I pulled you from the sea. You suffer from four broken ribs and other internal injuries which I will enumerate if you like.” 

Blue eyes peered suspiciously at him, squinting and surveying. He noticed surprise then relief as the man clearly comprehended he was a Vulcan. This often inspired trust.

“Fuck,” the human sighed and thumped down onto his backside. 

“May I approach?” Spock asked. He felt a small thrill at the prospect of silence as he approached. This man truly emanated nothing.

The human looked at him one more time, then nodded. He pulled at his shirt and glanced down at his bare torso. Heavy bruises mottled his ribs.

“Four ribs, huh?” The man rubbed hard at his face and raked a hand through his blond hair. Spock watched, struck by his handsomeness.

“Yes, a bruised liver and spleen, as well as two broken fingers. You may also be suffering from neurological difficulties. You have been unconscious since I retrieved you from the sea seven hours ago. How are you feeling?” Spock sat point-six meters from him.

“Alive?” he answered then winced. “My shoulder hurts like hell.” 

“Your shoulder was dislocated but the doctor and I reset it.”

The man glanced around them. “Doctor?”

“Yes. The man you struck as you escaped. Doctor Leonard McCoy.” 

The man responded unexpectedly “You’re Vulcan.”

Spock paused, raising an eyebrow. “Yes.”

“So you can’t lie?” 

“Not as such.” Spock refused to say more. He was capable of misleading beings when necessary through clever manipulation of truths. 

“Do you know who I am?” The human seemed to smirk.

“Negative,” Spock answered, curious about his phrasing. “Should I?”

“Nah. Just checking.” The man shook his head as if clearing his thoughts. 

They sat silently for a moment before Spock spoke. “Will you return with me to my cottage? You will be safe there. The doctor can continue supporting your return to good health. I can also provide nourishment.”

Spock watched the man’s profile as he looked out at the ocean, likely assessing his options. After a heavy breath, he turned his blue eyes toward Spock. 

“Okay.”


	2. Chapter 2

Spock heard heavy footsteps before Leonard knocked on his office door.

“Enter, Leonard.”

“Well, he’s asleep,” Leonard said then slumped onto the small sofa under the window across the room. 

“What is his condition?” Spock turned, sensing from Leonard a calm tiredness and satisfaction that he’d done what he could. In the background, Leonard puzzled through the human's brain scans. Spock had noticed over the years that Leonard always pondered medical problems, like a constantly running program in his mind. 

“Like I said, he’ll survive. Refuses to go to a medical facility to get those ribs healed. Gonna hurt for a while. I’ve done what I can — gave him a healing accelerator, but those don’t always work with bone breaks. Should help with the internal bruising. He ate all the rest of the pasta and he’s better hydrated.”

“Have you learned anything from him?”

“Nothing. Says he doesn’t remember much. Nothing about his injuries or his adult life. Doesn’t know his name. Did mention something about a farm when he was a kid. Cornfields, so maybe midwest if he’s from Earth? He obviously remembers language and knows the names of a few famous people and places, but has no idea what day or year it is. His memory’s spotty right now, but it’s early and you did just fish him out of the ocean.”

Spock paused. “Are you certain he is telling the truth?

Leonard flipped his palms up. “Who knows? My gut says he’s having some memory problems, but he’s shaken up, too. Not sure I’d be too revealing if I’d just been beaten and thrown into the ocean.”

“You are right, Leonard. It is impossible to know, but you are very good with humans and seem to sense them accurately. I trust your judgment, but will continue my research.”

“Good idea.”

“Also, we cannot rule out memory tampering. His injuries are significant and we know of several cultures that have the capability to affect the memories of others.”

“Good point, Spock. We don’t know a damn thing and probably won’t for a while. I think I calmed him down enough that he’s not going to run in the next few hours, but keep an eye on him.”

“I shall. Although I do not wish to keep him prisoner either.”

“Yeah, I know. Tough call. I mean, if the guy wants to leave, he’ll leave. I think he’ll stay; he trusts you because you're Vulcan, and me because you said so. Not sure how long that will last, but see what you can do.”

“I will, Leonard. In addition, I’ve retrieved nothing significant from my search for missing humans. If he is engaged in military operations, there would of course be no public record. I am considering contacting Admiral Pike to inquire about his identity.”

Leonard’s eyebrows shot up. “Pike, huh? You know he’s going to ask you again.”

“It is necessary to contact someone in Starfleet. Despite Admiral Pike’s continued insistence I rejoin Starfleet, he is still a trusted ally.”

“All right, all right. Just warning you. Why don’t you also try taking a holo and see if we can make a database match?”

“Yes, a good idea. I shall do both. It is a most curious circumstance.”

“Yeah. It’s weird.” Leonard yawned wide and stretched. “Listen, I’m thinking of heading out. He’s as stable as he needs to be. I can come and check on him tomorrow.”

“That is a good idea. Please do return to Joanna who undoubtedly misses you.” 

“Yeah, right. She loves Marlowe. The two of them are as thick as thieves.” Leonard sounded gruff, but Spock sensed affection and humor. 

“Is there anything I can do for him?”

“There’s a hypo with four doses of painkiller. Should be more than enough. Give him food and keep him drinking. He could probably also use a water shower, if he wants one. He’ll have to take off the rib bindings, though, and he’ll need help. Might be a good idea to put him in the bed. That sofa isn’t ideal.”

Spock blinked in surprise. He had not anticipated needing to touch the man.

“On second thought, the water shower can wait until I come back tomorrow. Do you have a sonic?”

“Hand sonic, but that should be sufficient.”

“Good. That works.” Leonard yawned and scratched his jaw stubble.

“I will do what I can to keep him comfortable,” Spock reassured.

“I’m sure you will, Spock.” Leonard tapped his knees lightly with his fists and stood. “So, I’ll see you tomorrow around lunchtime. If anything — and I mean anything at all happens, comm me. I want to know.”

“I understand, Leonard. Thank you.” Spock stood, as well, then after a moment, followed.

The front door closed with a small bang and, gratefully, Spock’s world was once again silent.

~*~

Spock had taken a holo of the sleeping man and was engaged in image matching through several Earth-local databases. The programs would likely search for several hours before returning results. The Starfleet databases were unavailable to him, but he would send the holo to Admiral Pike shortly.

“Hello? Anyone here?” a voice came from the kitchen. Spock signed out of his computer session and went into to the kitchen. 

“Yes. I am here. Please call me Spock.” Spock stopped to see the patient leaning against the center island, hand wrapped around a glass of water. His face was still pale, but notably better. 

“Hey Spock.” The man smiled faintly, tension at the corners of his mouth. “Wondering if Doctor McCoy left any painkillers?” He pressed his hand to his side. “Ribs are killing me.”

“I believe he did. Give me one moment.” Spock found the small medipack in the sunroom and prepared one dose of the analgesic. 

“Can you self-administer?” Spock asked, habitually used to avoiding contact with others. 

“Um, yeah.” The human clumsily took the hypo in the hand with two finger splints. His left hand dangled from the sling designed to prevent further injury to his shoulder. 

“I am sorry. Please allow me. I can see it would be troublesome, and possibly ineffective due to your injuries.” Spock moved closer, his breath held. 

“Oh, okay,” the human answered, appearing relieved. He handed the hypo back to Spock. 

Carefully taking care not to make skin contact, Spock pressed the hypo against his neck. After a moment, the man shivered and stretched his neck. “Better.” 

“Did you remember anything upon waking?”

A crease appeared between his eyebrows. “No, nothing. It’s like a fog. I feel like the memories are there, but I don’t know, hidden or just out of reach.” He winced as he moved.

“Would you like to sit? Can I offer assistance?” Spock moved toward the man but stopped when he raised a hand.

“No, I’ve got it. I don’t want to lie down any more. It hurts, but it’s good to stand and not feel like I’m dying.”

“Here is a stool should you change your mind.” Spock moved the stool from one side of the island to the other. 

“Thanks.” After a moment, he looked up, giving Spock his full attention, eyes the brightest blue Spock had ever seen. “And thank you for saving my life, Spock. I mean it. I don’t know what would have happened, but… thank you.”

“You are most welcome. It is my duty to help those who require aid. I am pleased you have survived.” 

The man snorted, eyes crinkling as a wry smile appeared. “Yeah, me, too. Although I’m not quite sure what to do without knowing anything about myself.”

“I understand. Doctor McCoy has indicated memory often returns after a trauma, but no data is available about the speed at which that will occur or how much of your memory will be restored.”

“Figures. I get the sense this kind of thing happens to me a lot.” The man shook his head at his own odd statement.

“Do you refer to memory loss?” Spock asked.

“No. Trauma. I don’t know. I just have a feeling, ya know.”

The man chuckled when Spock raised an eyebrow. 

“Sorry, maybe not. You’re Vulcan, so…”

“Actually, I am half-human, so I do experience emotions. From time to time.” Spock allowed a small quirk of his lips to suggest humor.

The man smiled genuinely this time, transforming his face to make it even more handsome than before. Spock found himself staring then looked away quickly.

“May I offer you more to eat? I can make more pasta or possibly another dish you would prefer? I have procured some human ‘comfort foods’ which can be found in the cupboard here, and in the refrigerator.” 

The man hesitated, then followed Spock to the cupboard. “Oh, yeah. This would be awesome. If you don’t mind?” He had chosen pasta with a powdered cheese mixture. 

“I would be pleased to prepare it. Or if you prefer, I could replicate a portion for you.” Spock paused to wait for an answer.

“Oh, no. This is great. Unless it’s too much trouble?” The man seemed hesitant to accept his assistance.

Spock took the box. “It is no trouble. If you care to sit, I will prepare this and my own meal and we can dine together. If you are feeling tired, I can bring your food to the sunroom instead.”

The kitchen bustled with the sound of Spock preparing their dinners. He had baked a small casserole the day before and reheated it in the oven. The pasta dish did not take long and the pair soon sat down to eat. The man winced as he sat and groaned a little. 

“Can I make you more comfortable?”

“Nah. I’m fine. Thanks.” He took a large spoonful of the pasta. “It’s so good,” he mumbled. 

“Do you remember eating that dish before?”

“Huh. No, not explicitly, but this taste is familiar. Weird.” He continued to eat rapidly, seeming more interested in food than thinking of his condition. 

The food on their plates disappeared quickly as Spock pondered their circumstances. He was compelled by this stranger — a man without an identity — but more importantly, a man without emanating thoughts or feelings. It had been five years since he had been in the same room as another being without discomfort. Since that time, he had also been without touch or comfort, save what he could provide for himself. He could not deny the appeal of this human, almost wishing they had meet under other circumstances, one with fewer unanswered questions.

“Oh, man. I’m suddenly so exhausted.” The man pushed back from the table looking pale, and Spock stood. “I think I should lie down.”

“I have arranged a more comfortable sleeping location for you. Please follow me.”

With some effort, the man stood, breathing somewhat labored. Spock offered his arm. “Please, hold onto me if you need to.”

A moment later, he felt the grip of a hand on his forearm as he led the stranger into the only bedroom. Spock would sleep in the sunroom, although he did not anticipate needing sleep for approximately eleven hours.

“I should use the head first,” the man said. Spock did not comment, but the use of that word further confirmed the likelihood the man had military training.

Spock waited outside the bathroom door until he emerged, looking more pale. A moment later, he swayed on his feet and Spock grabbed him under his good shoulder and held him upright until they made it to the bed.

He cried out it pain as he rolled onto his back, then settled, his eyes drooping. “I’m okay. Thank you again…” he mumbled and almost instantly fell asleep. 

Spock covered him with a blanket and flicked off the light. He surmised the man would sleep for many hours before waking again.

~*~

_”Sam, c’mon. There’s only two of them.” Jim chided his brother, shoving his hair out of his face. Grey and Trey, sixteen year-old twin brothers and neighborhood bullies had Jim cornered. Sam had interrupted them, but as usual, wanted to run._

_“You’re gonna get us in trouble,” Sam answered, holding the door open for Jim to follow. “Let’s go!” Jim glanced at Sam’s face, saw the familiar fear, and backed down. He could have taken both of them, but it would have hurt like hell._

_Jim bumped into Sam as he pushed through the doorway. “Go!” he yelled, noticing the two teens following. “Through Minnie’s!”_

_Sam turned sharply and ran through the back door of the neighboring candy store, startling their classmate, Chana at the register before they fled out the front door. Jim swiped a handful of jelly beans on his way out, shouting “I’ll get you later!” Behind him, he heard the girl yell his name._

_The pair emerged onto the nearly empty main street of Riverside and dashed toward home. Jim laughed, throwing some of the colorful candy into his mouth._

_Close call!_

~*~

Spock retreated to his office to determine if his programs had identified any matches for the uploaded holo of his guest. From afar, he could see the yellow flashing light indicating some success. He quickly perused the images, identifying two for further scrutiny. 

The first showed a neat line of Starfleet members standing at attention at a Memorial service for deceased or missing service members. The event was signified by black armbands worn by the members engaged in ceremonial events, but no immediate location was discernible. The other image, less likely, was a gaunt teenager rescued from Tarsus IV. The youth was hunched over another supine figure, showing his profile and near-white scraggly hair. The features, even from this angle, were quite similar, but Spock bypassed the image. Given the few survivors, particularly children, it was an unlikely match.

The more relevant Starfleet image revealed few clues beyond the evident mourning attire. A deeper image comparison and search revealed a date, nine years prior, but no information regarding the location of the event. Spock engaged another program to further identify the location through architecture, flora, and other building materials present in the photograph. Once started, he drew up his communications program and prepared a message for Admiral Pike. 

It had been more than thirteen months since the Admiral had sent a communication to Spock. The last one had offered a remote research position in the desert plains of Altira Prime. While the project intrigued him, he was wary of the intermittent visits from Starfleet science teams. It was also Spock’s experience that despite his well-respected status in Starfleet, he would still be subject to unexpected orders instructing him to engage with others beyond his current capacity.

Furthermore, if he examined his thoughts more deeply, he was wary of trusting the organization which had offered somewhat limited assistance to him after his injuries. Captain Pike had advised Spock to stay in Starfleet, despite his misgivings. Spock had declined, but with Pike’s assistance, Spock was able to retire with a full pension and health benefits, should he require them, for the rest of his life.

Spock smiled slightly at the memory of Leonard’s reaction to Pike’s advice: “That’s the least they can do, Spock. They screwed up, Spock. Look at you now, you can barely stand to be in the same room with someone else.” After a few more choice words, Leonard had stormed out, slamming the door and leaving Spock in silence. From that time forward, however, the doctor had been his most loyal friend and confidant, even if his advice was often more colorful than helpful. In addition, Leonard, with his vast medical expertise, had begun researching and developing procedures and medications to help Spock re-integrate with society. The man had not succeeded, but his efforts were and continued to be valuable. Both held out hope that one day he would find a treatment that allowed Spock to be able to function with normal telepathy. Until then, Spock was comfortable with his choice to be alone.

The beeping of his recognition program interrupted Spock’s typing and he viewed the results of the comparison. The ceremony had been conducted in San Francisco, in one of the minor public gardens known for cultivating several different varieties of trees not native to the area. Given the diversity of flora, it was fairly easy for the program to find a match.

Spock cross-referenced the location and year, and found two articles describing the park, three articles describing the speakers and the ceremony, but none mentioning the names of those in attendance. He perused other news at the time, particularly that of the Starfleet Record, a newsletter outlining the successes of students and recent Starfleet Academy graduates. In that calendar year, five hundred and sixteen Starfleet members, most identified as male humans, had been mentioned. Spock paused, considering his best approach, then switched back to finish his communique to Admiral Pike. He attached the holo and clicked ‘send’. Despite the late evening hour, Spock predicted it would not take long for the Admiral to respond to his message.

While he waited, he closed his eyes, took several long breaths and engaged in a short meditation.

~*~

_”Cadet Kirk! Get your ass over here.” Captain Pike’s voice cut through the din of a crowded hallways and he froze. Pivoting slowly, he caught the Captain’s eye, and expecting anger matching his tone, was surprised to see the glint of humor._

_“Yes, sir?” Jim responded, moving slowly toward his superior officer._

_Pike waited until Jim was a few feet away and pointed to a message on his PADD. “Would you like to explain this?” He asked Jim with a raised eyebrow._

_Jim glanced at the displayed message and blinked. “Um, yes, sir. I do have an explanation.” He swallowed, remembering the darkened hallways and the guard asleep, or, well, unconscious at his post._

_“Better be a damned good explanation.” All the humor disappeared from Pike’s face._

_“Well, see, sir. Lieutenant Vro, sir, she left her PADD in the simulation room. And, uh, it was my fault, sir. I really needed to get it back for her.”_

_“And this was so urgent, it couldn’t wait until morning?” Pike tapped the screen to show a grainy photo of Jim re-wiring the door panel outside Sim Lab Six._

_“Shit.” Jim stood up straighter. “Uh, sorry, sir. I mean…” He felt his smooth-talking skills vanish._

_“You’re being reassigned.”_

_“But, sir.” Jim shuffled on his feet. He was supposed to be on the Enterprise in two months._

_“You’re a menace, Kirk. I can’t have you on my ship.”_

_Jim started to sweat. Images of his life disintegrating flashed through his mind. Mom’s disappointed face, Sam’s judging tones…Frank’s ‘I told you so.”’ Jim cringed, shame curling around his insides._

_“Please, sir, I’ll do anything. Please don’t ground me.” He heard the pleading in his voice and winced. He needed this assignment, though. It was everything to him._

_“0600 report to Admiral Marcus.”_

_Blinking, Jim’s mouth hung open. “Admiral Marcus, sir? He’s head of Section 31.”_

_Pike’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know about that, Cadet?”_

_“I…Um.” Jim scrambled to cover the results of his hacking. “I mean, He’s an admiral with no command, but he’s in the Hoffstettler Building every day. It’s top secret…I mean there are rumors, sir. Just rumors.” Since when had he become so bad a bullshitting?_

_“Yeah right. I’m surprised we don’t have footage of you breaking and entering in that building, too. You’re lucky, kid. Marcus has no tolerance for scheming cadets, but it seems you’re special.”_

_Struck simultaneously with fear and relief, Jim’s back straightened. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”_

_“0600, Kirk, and try not to mess it up this time. It’s your last chance.”_

~*~

The calm emptiness of Spock’s meditation dissolved as the shrill ringing of his comm invaded his mind. He eased out of his relaxed state and reached into his pocket.

 _Admiral Christopher Pike_ showed on his comm and Spock raised an eyebrow.

“Admiral,” Spock said. “I assume you have received my message?”

“Yeah, Spock. I did.” His voice sounded heavy. “I can’t believe that holo you sent me.”

“Sir?” Admiral Pike’s tone and words were surprising. 

“He’s supposed to be dead, Spock. I’m, well, simply put — I am floored.”

“Sir, please explain. You know this man?”

“Do I know him?” Pike seemed to sputter. “How in the hell do you NOT know him?”

“I apologize for my oversight, sir. Please tell me the identity of the man I rescued.”

“Goddamnit, Spock. It’s Jim Kirk. Son of Lieutenant Commander George Kirk, of the USS Kelvin. James T. Kirk, Spock. Ringing any bells?”

Spock swallowed. “Of course, sir. I recall the name but I do not recall ever seeing a holo of him.” His mind spun fast and he recited his understanding of the man’s accomplishments:  
  
“James T. Kirk had managed to infiltrate the Narada as it entered the Alpha Quadrant after an attack on a Klingon Armada. Communications between the Narada and a nearby Starfleet vessel indicate the ship was targeting Earth. Reports indicate that Lieutenant Kirk and his crew were killed when the Narada was destroyed.”

“Apparently not, Spock. The man has been missing for almost nine years. How the hell did he wash up on your beach. You of all people, Spock?”

“Sir?” Spock was bewildered by Pike’s question. 

“Never mind, Spock. I can’t explain it. But damn…” Admiral Pike was silent for a few moments.

“Should I inform Mr. Kirk of his identity, sir?” Spock set Pike’s strange question aside.

“I don’t know, Spock. Probably not. Maybe it’s better if he doesn’t remember right now — who knows what he’s been through. I think he should be examined by Starfleet medical personnel first. And debriefed. Who knows where he’s been.”

“I shall not proceed without your instructions.” Spock fell into a familiar military stance despite being a civilian for four years.

“Why don’t you wait until you hear from me.” Pike paused again. “I’m sorry to ask, Spock, but can you read him? Is there anything you can tell me?”

“Negative, sir. He has no emanating thoughts or emotions. Doctor McCoy is without explanation.”

“McCoy, huh? Figures. Have you melded with him, Spock?” Admiral Pike responded with his usual directness.

“No, I have not. But I touched his skin, where emotions are readily available from humans, and retrieved no information.”

“Nothing? Doesn’t that seem strange?”

“Yes, sir. It is most unusual.” Spock turned in his chair to face the window as rain splattered on the pane.

“Yeah, that’s definitely strange. Listen, Spock. Just keep an eye on him for me, would you?” 

“Of course, Admiral. I should mention that upon waking for the first time, he attempted to escape. I encouraged him to return and I believe he trusts me.”

“I understand. Keep him safe until someone arrives to get him. He’s valuable.”

“As is all life, sir.”

“I know, Spock, but this kid…well, not a kid anymore, I guess. This guy…he’s special.”

“As you wish, Admiral.”

“I’ll comm you later with more instructions.” The admiral hung up and Spock sat pondering the Admiral’s words. 

Unexpectedly, with his identity revealed, his strange houseguest had become more, and not less, mysterious.


	3. Chapter 3

With the storm intensifying outside, Spock stepped into his bedroom to check on the sleeping Jim Kirk. The man’s face was peaceful. He snored lightly as Spock retrieved the sleeping robe he’d forgotten to take when he’d helped Mr. Kirk to the bed.

He paused as he reached the door, glancing back to ponder this strange man. Nine years was indeed a long time to be missing and he wondered about his family and friends. Surely, many had mourned his disappearance, including apparently, Admiral Pike. Spock could not surmise the nature of a disappearance of that length, although with the memory loss, it was difficult to know if the man had had any awareness of his true identity since his “death” in the Narada Incident.

Since his brief and disturbing call with Admiral Pike, Spock had discovered additional information on the Narada Incident. It was clear that James T. Kirk was believed deceased along with his five fellow crew members. Spock had expected to see more news coverage, particularly the common and overly sentimental narratives describing the lives of heroes, or the coverage of a funeral to honor the fallen members. To his surprise, none was present. Instead, news coverage had turned to the assassination of the Andorian Ambassador during a very important diplomatic visit to San Francisco. The news swept through the media and no more mention of the Narada Incident was to be found. The absence of news related to a memorial service was particularly odd, so Spock made a mental note to ask Admiral Pike for an explanation. Human customs, despite his fourteen years on Earth, were sometimes still a mystery to him.

Folding his robe over his arm, he made his way to the sunroom. He cleaned the area and organized the remaining medical equipment. Rolling his nearby mat onto the floor, he faced the rain-splattered windows and took his meditation pose. His thoughts whirled with mysteries and questions about Mr. Kirk, and he was not surprised it took longer than usual for his mind to settle. 

~*~

Deep into the night, Spock stirred in his bed, whispers of thoughts entering his quiet slumber. He awoke slowly, his awareness intensifying along with the increasing volume of human emotions.

_”Two occupants. One human, southwest corner. That’s the one we want.” Pride, satisfaction, focus._

_“Roger. The other one?” Wariness, efficiency, planning._

_“Non-human. Stats say possibly Romulan, maybe Vulcan. No movement on either.” Surprise, assessment of Romulan and Vulcan physical capabilities._

_“Roger that.” Self-talk of readiness. Flash of worry._

_“No alarm or area-wide tech. Looks clean and easy. Makib and Walters, take the human. Jhoma, you’re with me on the egress. Saunders, lock and load for the non-human.”_

_Excitement for the possibility of gunfire. Focus._

_Roger, commander._

Spock froze, listening carefully to the thoughts and making a mental map of their locations. While he could not see what they saw, one of the men thought more loudly than the others, mentally cataloging his journey as if he were recounting it to himself. He knew when the being had almost made it to the sunroom door. He remained very still until the door popped open with a loud crack.

Spock jumped up, head swimming with the man’s surprise and a sudden snap of fear. Spock assessed his weaponry, a multi-phasic stunner, and dove low to knock the assailant off his feet. After a brief struggle, Spock utilized the nerve pinch and rendered him disabled.

Whispered orders, errant thoughts about team members, and a well-coordinated plan slid into Spock’s mind as the other team members closed in on the bedroom. Two beings climbed up onto the deck and stood at the glass door for a moment. He could see their flashlights searching the bed, then thoughts of confirmation. 

Spock, knowing their plan as they knew it, crawled unseen into the bedroom and pulled Mr. Kirk off the bed and into his arms. The man grumbled and turned, but was sleeping so deeply he did not rouse. It was not an ideal position, but due to the man’s broken ribs, Spock would have to use his arm strength to hold the man upright. He yanked a sheet off the bed and wrapped it around them, tying Kirk against himself as best he could while also getting out of the room before the men forced their way in. 

With Kirk secure, Spock crouch-walked back through the door just as the assailants broke the lock and surged inside, lights flashing. Spock reached the doorway and stood suddenly, breaking into a run through the house and out the sunroom door. Behind him, he heard shouts, sensed chaos, and reconfiguring of their plan. His only hope was his superior knowledge of the landscape. He knew immediately where to go.

Kirk was a heavy, uneven weight pressed against his side as he ran down the wooden path toward the beach. His progress slowed as he stepped onto the packed sand, then more so on the loose sand of the beach. He skirted the grasses, crouching low, hoping to avoid the heat sensors the commander used to determine their presence in the house. 

Spock calculated their distance through the volume of their thoughts, all chaotic, but well managed by the commander. Spock’s superior strength, despite Kirk’s heaviness, lengthened the distance between them. Finally, he heard a gasp in his ear as Kirk awoke.

“What the fuck?” he shouted, gripping Spock’s shoulder. “Put me down!” 

“You must stop struggling. We are being pursued by attackers.”

“Attackers?” Kirk asked, struggling despite Spock’s warnings. “What are you talking about?”

“Please stop!” Spock veered sharply west and through a hidden V of dunes toward a brightly lit home. Several people dotted the lowest terrace, holding drinks and dancing to music which became increasingly audible as they approached. Spock’s neighbors, two houses down, were often the subject of complaints due to noise during the summer months. 

“Can you walk?” Spock asked, pausing slightly.

“Yeah, I think so.” Spock tucked himself along the side of the house, mind filling with the chatter and emotions of the many occupants. He struggled to force them away so he could think properly.

“We must join the party to be safe. They cannot track us among so many humans. But you must walk and appear alert.” Spock unwrapped the sheet and steadied Kirk on his feet. The man’s eyes were clearer and he nodded. 

“Yeah, of course.” Kirk took a few steps and seemed to falter.

“Please hold onto me. We shall imply you are drunk.”

Kirk chuckled. “Well, yeah. I’m sure I would be if I were here…” 

Spock winced as the pair stepped inside the front door. Waves of emotions assaulted him and he also wavered and held onto Kirk as much as Kirk held onto him. 

“We must get to the center of the gathering and I must find a comm.” Spock felt his mind growing foggy with the din of noise. “I am…”

“C’mon, up the steps,” Kirk said, seeming not to notice Spock’s distress.

Kirk grabbed Spock’s fingers and pulled him toward the main floor.

“Hey,” Kirk said, grinning and seeming very much in place at the gathering. Inside, Spock was beginning to shake, his mind unable to distinguish individual words among the onslaught of emotion. _Crying, shame, amusement, arousal, humor, anger, love, frustration, desire, disappointment, boredom, irritation, joy…_

Spock heard Kirk’s voice. “Listen, I left my comm on the beach and it’s too dark to find it. Can I borrow yours?” 

Spock turned to find Jim speaking to a tall brunette human woman. “Sure,” she answered brightly, matching his smile with hers.

“Awesome, thanks. We’re gonna go into the back bedroom. So loud out here.”

“No problem. I’ll be here…” The woman winked at Kirk.

“C’mon,” Kirk said, grabbing Spock’s elbow. Barely able to think, Spock simply followed. They went up another story and searched two bedrooms before finding an empty one. They closed the door and locked it. 

Spock let out a breath, feeling somewhat better at the reduction in proximity to the guests.

“Hey, you okay? You look pretty pale.” Kirk asked.

“I am slightly less than adequate.”

“Okay.” Kirk eyed him. 

“May I have the comm, please?” Spock asked, and Kirk handed it to him.

Spock dialed a number and waited a few moments for a voice on the line.

“Admiral Pike, it is Spock.”

“Yeah, I can see that. What’s going on? Something happen with Kirk?” The admiral’s sleepy voice cleared.

“Assailants have attempted to capture Mr. Kirk. We are currently at a social gathering near my house. The assailants have heat-sensing equipment and were well-armed to execute their plan.” 

“But they didn’t know they were broadcasting everything to a super-telepath?” Pike asked.

“Affirmative.” Spock rubbed his forehead. “Please provide assistance.”

“Give me the address, Spock. I’ll have someone there in twenty minutes.”

“Please hurry, sir.” Spock felt shame in his plaintive tone, but he was beyond caring.

“Hang in there, Spock. You’ll be back home asap.”

“Yes, sir.” Spock relayed the address and ended the call.

“Admiral Pike? You Starfleet or something?” Kirk asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Retired,” Spock answered. He glanced across the room and saw a small bathroom. “If you will excuse me.” Nausea slid through Spock and he swallowed hard, just making it to the toilet to vomit.

“Whoa, man. You okay?” Kirk was at the door behind him. His blue eyes held concern and Spock felt his shame deepen.

“I request privacy,” Spock grated, unable to say more.

Kirk paused, stepped back, and closed the door between them.

Spock flushed the toilet and sat heavily on the lid. His mind was awash in the continued chatter of humans, but the distance made it slightly more manageable. He noted that each time he encountered a crowd, his reaction was worse. His pulse raced and his body shook. His mind simply could not cope with the volume. He was getting worse, not better, just as he had long feared. Another wave of nausea rose in his throat, and he slipped onto the floor, raising the lid to vomit again. 

Settling back on the floor, he rested his forehead on his knees. His own emotions were in turmoil and he felt wetness on his face. He envisioned his former self, confident and capable, First Officer of the Enterprise with Captain Pike. The two were a strong team and he had been grateful for the man’s trust and confidence. He was not typically one to lament his losses, but this moment, his helplessness in assisting one in need, literally took him to his knees. He was useless.

A soft knock sounded and Spock wiped his face and straightened. He was not yet able to stand, but he composed himself best he could.

“Enter.”

“Hey, Spock. You okay? Need anything?”

“Negative. I appreciate your concern. You are the injured party, Mr. Kirk. I suggest you rest if you are able. Help will arrive in approximately seventeen minutes.”

The man gaped at Spock. “Mr. Kirk?”

Spock, in his altered state, did not immediately recognize the error of his words.

“You called me Mr. Kirk. That’s my name? I’m Mr. Kirk?”

Spock swallowed. He had hoped for better circumstances to reveal his knowledge. 

“Yes. Admiral Pike indicates knowing you as a cadet. Your names is James Tiberius Kirk and you have been missing, presumed dead, for nine years.”

~*~

A few days later, Spock took the familiar path back toward the house after his morning walk. While the sun held no answers to his questions, no cure for his condition, its simplicity and predictable nature improved Spock’s meditations and helped to clear his mind. 

He shook out his shoes and left them by the door before going into the sunroom. He needed no jacket this morning as it was already warm. Calm seas yielded almost no wind and he found himself nicely warmed by his walk.

A pinging sound emerged from his office and he tapped the call notification on his screen. Admiral Pike’s face appeared.

“Admiral,” Spock said, pulling out his chair to sit.

“Hey Spock. How are you feeling?” The man’s blue eyes crinkled at the corners.

“I am functioning adequately. Thank you for asking.” 

“Ready for an update?”

“Of course. What news do you have of Mr. Kirk? Has he regained his memories?”

“Well…that’s a complicated answer.”

Spock raised a brow. “Please explain.”

“He hadn’t been missing, after all, Spock.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s been working for Section 31.”

Spock paused. “The unacknowledged agency performing covert operations for Starfleet. I have heard Leonard refer to it as the ‘worst-kept secret in all of Starfleet.’”

Pike laughed. “He’s right. The agency’s public, but everything they do is top secret. Including the identity of their staff.”

“And that staff included Cadet James Kirk.”

“ _Captain_ James Kirk, Spock. Field promotion to Captain two years ago. I’m not remotely surprised by his rise in the ranks. He was a talented, if not somewhat unorthodox cadet.”

“Unorthodox, sir?”

Pike grinned. “He broke a lot of rules. He was set to serve on the Enterprise the year you were promoted to Chief Science Officer. Got caught where he shouldn’t have been and lied about it. Admiral Marcus scooped him up.”

“But his identity was revealed as part of the Narada Incident.” Spock found it odd given the agency’s secrecy.

“Story goes that their identity was revealed by camera footage from the nearby ship. Apparently, Nero, the captain of the Narada, was transmitting when the team crashed the bridge.”

At Pike’s pause, Spock’s mind put the pieces together. “Am I to surmise the crew’s deaths were fabricated to cover for their exposure?” It was a disturbing revelation.

“Got it in one, Spock.” Pike shook his head sadly. “He was a good kid and I thought we'd lost him.”

“You were fond of him.”

Pike chuckled again and smiled. “You didn’t really get to meet him, given the shape he was in. He’s got more charisma in his pinky finger than nearly anyone I’ve ever met. It was hard not to like him.”

“You are correct. The James Kirk I knew only briefly was injured. What is the status of his physical condition, Admiral?”

“As far as I know, nearly fully healed. Once we grabbed him from the party, we took him straight to a secure facility for medical care.”

“And his memory, sir? You have not disclosed that information.”

“Right. Apparently, he remembers everything, but wouldn’t tell anyone how he ended up in the Atlantic. I only spoke to him briefly right after they brought him in.”

“And do you expect to meet with him again to ask these questions?” 

Pike looked away from the camera, face once again sad. “Would love to, Spock, but he’s gone.”

“Please clarify. What do you mean by ‘gone’?” 

“He left in the middle of the night. He’s a damn undercover operative, so I’m not sure why we even thought we could keep him.”

“So, he has returned to Section 31. That seems to be appropriate.” Spock felt a strange sense of disappointment.

“That’s the thing, Spock. _They_ contacted _me_ to arrange his transfer.”

Spock pondered Pike’s words and leaned back in his chair. “That is indeed curious.”

“Yeah. And I have a gut on this, Spock. Don’t know why, but I have a feeling he’s going to show up on your doorstep.”

“Mine?” Spock blinked twice. “Why would he return here? I was barely able to assist him.”

Pike frowned. “You underestimate yourself, Spock. You saved the man’s life — twice. Anyway, I don’t know why I think he’s going to show up. A gut feeling, I guess.”

Spock exhaled. This was not the first time he had encountered the Admiral’s gut feelings.

“Very well, Admiral. I will inform you when he arrives.”

“No, Spock. Don’t do anything. I’m not sure what’s going on, but there’s got to be an important reason for a Starfleet Captain to go AWOL.”

“You are correct. I would expect a reason that is not amenable to discussion or report directly to Starfleet.”

“Exactly. If you see him, figure it out, okay? And then see if you can arrange a meeting. I want to see the kid.”

“Yes, Admiral. In the unlikely event James Kirk visits me, I will attempt to ‘figure it out’ as you have requested.” Spock let his mouth tip into a small smirk.

“You always were a smartass, Spock.” Pike grinned. “Anyway. Glad you’re feeling better and stay in touch.”

“I will, Admiral.” Spock held up the ta’al greeting. “Live long and prosper.”

“You, too, Spock.”

~*~

The days grew longer as the summer solstice approached. Spock continued to catalog the sunrises and pondered how his life had changed in the past several weeks. His routines had remained the same, but the sudden insertion of Starfleet back into his life had made him unsettled. He thought he had resolved his grief related to his disability. It appeared he had not.

One factor making it difficult was Leonard’s renewed insistence on discovering a treatment for his injury. Spock acquiesced to Leonard’s requests for additional tests and scans, but was hesitant to believe it was possible. Leonard cited Mr. Kirk’s mental capabilities and proposed it might be possible in reverse — to fully shield with some technology or brain alteration. Spock did not share the doctor’s hope. 

The waves this morning were more turbulent than they had been in the last few weeks. While it was not officially hurricane season, occasional storms created additional debris on the shore. He walked more slowly than usual, observing and mentally cataloging his findings. It was rote and easy and he reveled in the simplicity.

“Hello, Spock.” A voice startled Spock and he froze, lifting his head sharply. He nearly gasped at what he saw.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you. Guess you can’t hear me, right? I mean my thoughts.”

“Mr. Kirk. What are you doing here?” Spock glanced around, suddenly worried. His eyes snapped back to Kirk’s face. His blue eyes were bright and his longer blond hair whipped around his face. 

Kirk smiled slightly. “Nah, we’re okay. I’ve been watching the place for a couple of days and there’s nothing happening. I know Section’s routines and I’ve laid a bunch of false leads. It’ll be a long time until they find me.”

Spock tilted his head, concerned. “Why are you telling me this?”

Jim laughed. “You’re Vulcan. You cannot lie. And you saved my life. Mostly, that one. You saved my life.” Jim shoved his hands deeply into his jean pockets, avoiding eye contact.

“You were in danger. It was the logical and moral action to take.”

“Yeah, but…” Jim ground his foot into the sand. “Look, I know about your injury. Not the details, but I know you can’t be around people. I saw how sick you got at the party. You did it anyway. You walked us right into that crazy scene — to save me. Not everyone would do that, Spock.” 

A faint green blush rose into Spock’s face. “I am gratified you are still alive and appear to be doing well.” He had a hard time not gazing at the man’s face — he was truly beautiful.

“I guess. I’ve been bumming around, trying to figure out what to do.” Kirk shrugged.

“’What to do?’ To what do you refer? Are you not a member of Starfleet?”

Jim gave a wry smile. “Well, sort of?” He shrugged. “Things are complicated.”

“Indeed,” Spock answered, surmising Kirk’s potential dereliction of duty.

They stood awkwardly for a long moment, then Jim took a step back. “Listen. I don’t want to bother you. Just wanted to say thanks. Thanks for everything you did for me. You’re a good being. I owe you.” Kirk started to turn around, and gave a little wave. 

Without thinking, Spock stepped forward and put his hand on the man’s arm. “No, please wait.” Spock swallowed. “Would you like to come to my home for a beverage?”

Jim smiled shyly. “I'd really love to.”


	4. Chapter 4

Spock led him up the path to his house. The room was lit by the sun, casting shadows against the interior wall, as he shook out his shoes and watched this companion do the same.

“Would you like tea? I can also make coffee,” Spock asked.

“Either is fine. Whatever you're drinking’s good for me.” Jim unzipped his jacket and slid it off his shoulders, showing tanned muscular arms. Spock looked away quickly.

“I shall put on water for tea.” Spock said as they moved into the kitchen.

“I have many varieties of tea. Would you like to choose, Mr. Kirk?” Spock opened a cabinet and pulled out two large baskets.

“Call me Jim, please.”

“Of course, Jim.” Spock pushed the baskets toward him and filled the kettle.

“Old fashioned, I see,” Jim said and Spock assumed he meant the teakettle and stove.

“Indeed. I prefer the ceremonial process of making tea. Not formal, of course, but there is merit in waiting.”

Jim smiled. “Yeah, I can see that.” He continued poking through the basket and pulled out two small paper bags. “So, do you recommend the Visharalati or the Bergerian Kinja tea?”

“Are you familiar with either?” 

“I am, but not for a while. Can’t quite remember if the Kinja is the sour tea or not.”

“You have an excellent memory. No, the Kinju is sour. The Kinja is the sweeter, although somewhat smoky flavored tea.”

“Ah, right.” Jim grinned. “I’ll have the Kinja.”

“You appear to be knowledgeable about tea.” Spock turned and leaned on the counter to face Jim. He marveled at the ease between them — the peace he could experience with another human present. It had been many years. 

“I’ve had a lot of time between missions. It takes the edge off and gives me a boost when I need it.”

“A curious mixture.”

“Right. Planning missions is ninety percent planning meetings and ten percent execution. When things go well, execution is just a matter of communication, flexibility, and a well-trained crew.”

“That is true of many Starfleet operations.”

“Yeah.” Jim said, voice drifting off as if to indicate his reticence to speak more on it.

In response, Spock sifted through the baskets as well, interested in finding a tea he had not sampled recently. He found a purple paper envelope and squeezed it open. He sniffed.

“Have you ever tried Yridian tea? It is somewhat sharp, but quite flavorful.”

“No, I haven’t. Supposed to be very difficult to get.”

“It is. I retrieved a small sample from a smuggler who attempted to disrupt a peace conference on Meverian Station.”

“Ha. That sounds right. I’m sure your ‘retrieval’ cost him a pretty penny.”

Spock feigned severity. “Smuggling is illegal in the Federation.”

Jim chuckled. “I’ll have to try it, then, with a story like that.”

“Very well. I shall make enough for both of us.”

The two continued to chat amiably about tea and space exploration. As they spoke, often in vague terms highlighted with anecdotes, Jim appeared to relax and smiled quite often. Spock could see the charm Admiral Pike had mentioned. When the tea water boiled, he poured it into a small metal pot to steep.

Spock turned away to open a cupboard. “May I offer you sustenance? I believe these crackers will nicely accompany the tea.”

“Sure. I’m always ready to eat.”

Spock glanced at him. “Would you care for more than these? I would be happy to cook for you.”

“Nah. That’s okay. I’m good.” Jim waved him off, but Spock sensed it was out of politeness.

Without gaining further agreement, Spock began to gather food for a small meal anyway. As the pair chatted, he laid out a sizable breakfast for the two to share. 

“This looks great, Spock. Thank you. You really didn’t have to.”

“It is my pleasure…” Spock hesitated before saying the next part. “It is so rare to have company that does not leave me feeling unwell.”

“Yeah. I’m glad. I mean, I know you probably have questions, but seems really cool that I can be here and you are okay. How long has it been?”

“Since my injury?”

“Yeah. Unless you don’t want to talk about it. I mean, I get it.” Jim shifted in his seat.

“I don’t mind speaking of the circumstances. Five years and fifty-six days.” Spock wasn’t sure what else to say. It had been so long since he’d revealed the circumstances of his injury.

“So, you retired? They couldn’t help you?”

“Affirmative on both counts. Although it was not without significant effort from Doctor Leonard McCoy and many neurologists who consulted on the case. I also engaged with the best Vulcan healer and she was able only to help me avoid insanity.”

“Damn…” Jim rubbed his upper lip. 

Spock reached into the cupboard to retrieve two tea cups. “I believe the tea is done steeping. Shall we?”

“Yes, please.” Jim moved off the stool and helped carry a few additional items to the table where they sat across from each other.

Spock poured for both of them. “I recommend no sweeteners or other accoutrements. I recommend savoring before swallowing. It has a satisfying complexity.”

“Thanks, Spock. This is really great.” Jim took a small sip and paused. He swallowed and his eyes crinkled. “That is interesting.”

“Wait a moment…” Spock watched as Jim’s eyes widened and he grinned. “Whoa. That’s really strange.”

“Indeed.” Spock took a drink, held it in his mouth for a long moment, then swallowed. "Notes of grass and root, deep cherry and plum, and after the swallow, a somewhat bitter tannin that sweetened unexpectedly a moment later.”

“I can see why it’s so prized.”

Spock nodded and took another sip. As he had experienced it before, there was little to say while drinking the tea. It was experiential and Spock reveled in the silent pleasure of the tea and the company. 

After a few minutes, Jim began to fidget and Spock motioned to their meal. “Please, help yourself to whatever you like. Let me know if you require anything else.”

“It’s all great. I’m really hungry, I guess.” He took several helpings from a variety of fruits, breads, and proteins Spock had provided for them. 

“Jim, if I may ask…”

“Yeah, Spock. I know. You want to know why you can’t read me?” Jim spoke with some food in his mouth. Ordinarily, it would have been offensive to Spock, but he found it oddly charming in Jim.

“If you don’t mind.” Spock said, belying his deep desire to know. A stirring of hope showed itself.

“About a year and a half ago we got an assignment to infiltrate a Romulan outpost that’d been trafficking just about anything you could imagine. Problem is that the Romulans had enslaved a number of Betazoid and part-Betazoid beings to assist with their operations.”

Spock nodded and took a bite of kreyla. He was intensely familiar with the workings of the Betazoid mind, as his was somewhat similar, although not as a result of the same brain structure or chemical components.

“So, the best way to make it work was to somehow block our minds from projecting any thoughts or emotions. Seemed impossible at the time.”

“But clearly it was not.” 

“Right. So, they needed a volunteer, and, well, I volunteered.” Jim took a big bite of a muffin.

Spock responded, “A decision not without risk. Was it successful on the first attempt?”

Jim chewed and drank some juice. “Well, we tried other external things, first. I mean, things others had tried, too. They work great unless you’re captured. Take off the helmet and you broadcast like a radio tower.”

“Which would be unhelpful for an infiltration mission.” Spock nodded. It made sense, but he was surprised Starfleet would go to such lengths.

“We tried drugs, stimulating various parts of the brain, hypnosis, everything you could think of. Some of the drugs were helpful, but I had so many allergic reactions, it was a no go.”

Spock nodded, encouraging Jim to keep speaking. When he saw his tea cup empty, he refilled it.

“So, allergies suck and I have many, so that put us out of drug options. The next suggestion was to alter my brain or at least insert a device to control the brain waves empaths and telepaths can sense. I didn’t think they’d isolated them enough to be able to block them, but I was wrong. It seems like there’ve been a lot of tests on this sort of thing.”

Spock chewed thoughtfully and then spoke, “I have found humans to be both intimidated and fascinated by telepathic and empathic beings. Even before my injury, I had been shunned and avoided by those who knew of Vulcan telepathy. Most did not understand it and were fearful.”

“Vulcans are touch telepaths, right?”

“Yes. Although, I do not require touch to sense thoughts and feelings, as you know.”

“Do they know what has been altered in your brain?”

“The doctors have theories, but none have lead to an effective treatment. I, too, have tried telepathic dampeners, but they leave me unable to think. I dislike them greatly and cannot function adequately while using them.”

“But you do sometimes?” Jim poured them both more tea.

“Yes, when I am required to meet with medical professionals or with others in the community.” 

“Do you mind if I asked what happened?” 

“I will tell you, but please, complete your story about your brain functioning.” Spock lifted the teacup to his lips and sipped. The flavors had changed slightly due to the consumed food, but it was still delicious.

“Ah, right. So Section had been working on a device for some time and had some success with tests. They said there’d be no long term side effects and they expected to be able to control the device remotely. Like an on/off switch.”

“Understandable but ambitious.”

Jim snorted wryly. “Yeah, pretty much.” Jim scraped butter across a slice of sourdough bread. “It didn’t exactly work that way.”

“Explain.” 

“Well, it worked. I mean, it really worked, only they couldn’t control it and couldn’t turn it off. The mission was nearly a year ago and it’s still in my head, doing what it’s supposed to do.”

“I am surprised it was not removed after the mission. To alter one’s mind so thoroughly seems unwise.”

“Well, they tried, or so they said.” Jim shook his head and frowned. “I think maybe they messed with the brain scans. Said the machine couldn’t come out, it had embedded itself deeper than they’d expected.”

“You are doubtful.”

“Because they signed me right up for another mission, one I can’t mention, and I said I wouldn’t do it.”

“You refused a direct order?” Spock paused, imagining the scene.

“Yep, to Marcus’s face. He was not happy. That man has a nasty streak and is dishonest as all get out.”

“Is it safe to assume your beating and near-death was connected to this refusal?”

“Well…” Jim’s face reddened and he laughed nervously. “I’m not so much for doing things I don’t want to do. I told him I’d go elsewhere to have it taken out and if someone else happened to get the tech, I didn’t really give a fuck.” Jim’s mouth popped open. “I mean, give a damn. Sorry.”

Spock ignored the curse and apology. “Surely you are not implying that Starfleet would try to murder you?” Despite Marcus’s reputation, it was beyond Spock’s comprehension that the service would kill one of it’s own.

“I wish I could say they didn’t try. I was headed to Vitar III.”

“The Thibian-Goss Medical Center.”

“Yeah, you know it?” Jim popped the last of his bread into his mouth. “Of course you do.” 

“Yes, experts in many forms of brain research and intervention. They have a remarkable capacity to understand complex biological systems. Doctor McCoy consulted them, but I have never traveled there.”

“Well, me neither. I was headed out the day before you found me. Skipped protocol, laid a false path, but somehow they found me anyway. I think they had been monitoring me for much longer than I knew. Maybe my whole stint with Section. They found me and if I hadn’t fallen into the water, I’m sure they’d have killed me.”

Spock paused to take it all in. “Why not prison? Why choose to kill you?”

With a snort, Jim pushed back from the table and crossed his arms over his chest. “Because they can’t hold me. I’m not being an ass or anything, but I’ve escaped from every prison I’ve ever been in.”

It took a moment for Spock to understand the implications of Jim’s words. He had, without realizing it, known about the darker underbelly of Starfleet, but had chosen to discount the rumors. This man sitting in front of him told a different story, however, and Spock’s thoughts grew darker. There was something at the edge of his consciousness that he could not quite capture. 

“Does the implant cause you any distress?” Spock asked.

“No, but I don’t like having radical tech in my head, you know? For all I know they’ve been trying to zap me or something.” Jim tapped the side of his skull. “I don’t want to be controlled.”

“Understood. What will you do now?”

Jim shrugged. “Run? Keep running.” 

At his words, Spock felt a surge of disappointment, an unexpected sadness that he might never see Jim again. It was strange to become attached to someone he had met only twice.

“For the rest of your life? Where will you go?” Spock could not fathom a life without anchor in that way.

“Dunno. I don’t want to run, but I also don’t want to die. Not a lot of options.”

“What about exposure? You threatened it once to Admiral Marcus. You could offer an exchange of the technology in your head for your freedom.”

“If they were Vulcan or some other race that doesn’t lie every other word, then sure. Marcus has lied to me from the beginning. I don’t have leverage. Even if they agree on the surface, they’d find a way to end me. I just know they would.” Jim raked a hand through his hair.

“Then your plan has merit. I regret it is required.” Spock hesitated, then met Jim’s eyes. He allowed his growing regard to show, despite knowing the human would be leaving soon. Their brief meeting had sparked something in him.

Jim gave a sad smile. “Yeah, me, too.” Their mutual gazes locked for a moment, then Jim stood. “Hey, why don’t I help clean up. Maybe we can go for a walk or something after. If you want to.” Jim laughed, seeming self-conscious.

Spock stood, as well. “I would like that.”

~*~

With the sun rising to mid-morning, Spock and Jim left the house to head north along the shore. They walked without purpose, simply talking and enjoying each other’s company. Spock reflected on the simplicity of this time, the connection he felt, the ease of this presence. It healed something inside him, even if only for this day. 

Jim seemed to feel the same, teasing him as they walked, asking curious questions about Spock’s parents, his human physiology, and the events of his recruitment into Starfleet.

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t know who you were when I was a cadet. Your record’s pretty impressive. I tried to get on the Enterprise, but screwed it up. Funny to think we’d have been shipmates.”

“Indeed.” Spock could not help but wonder at the coincidence of their eventual meeting. How close they had come to meeting before. “Admiral Pike indicated some difficulties resulting in your reassignment to Section 31.”

“Ha! I’m sure he did. Man, I gave him a hell of a time. I just wasn’t cut out for the straight-and-narrow, Spock. He thought I was, and I _am_ grateful. I just couldn’t do things by the book. I tried, but…” Jim shrugged and shoved his fists into his pockets.

“It appears that your talents were of substantial use to the Starfleet and the Federation. A covert agency seems to be a logical choice. Unconventional means are the norm, not the exception.”

“Yep. That’s what made it so good for me. What I didn’t know was how far they’d go to finish a mission. I’ve seen some things that shouldn’t have happened. Things I was part of that I regret.”

“Regret is illogical.”

“And human. You feel it ever?” 

“Of course. I feel all emotions relevant to the circumstances presented. In contrast to humans, they are more deeply felt, but also less noticeable during normal life events. The study of logic and peace for several thousand years has rendered Vulcans experts at managing the illogical emotions that once ruled us.”

“So you consider yourself foremost Vulcan?”

Spock hesitated, wondering how much to share, then deciding he admired Jim’s openness. “I have struggled with my identity for most of my life. As a child, my human side was an object of scorn. Vulcans, for their logic, can be highly judgmental. Infinite diversity in infinite combinations appears to apply only to Vulcans and non-Vulcans, not to a hybrid.”

“Whoa. That’s weird. You’re unique. I’d think that’d be cool.”

“I was the subject of many medical and mental tests throughout my childhood and adolescence. It was unpleasant.”

“That sucks, Spock. Is that why you joined Starfleet? I mean, you’re certainly smart enough to get into the Vulcan Science Academy.”

“I was accepted to the VSA, but declined. Starfleet fit my needs very well.”

“Until you were injured.” Jim said softly.

“Yes.” Spock paused. “Shall we sit, Jim?” They had arrived at a particularly attractive vista where the shore curved inland, revealing a widened ocean view on three sides.

“So, you want to tell me what happened?” Jim nudged his knee against Spock’s. The pair had been growing closer, bodies intermittently touching, sometimes lingering before breaking apart. Spock could not deny his growing attraction to this man. He resolutely ignored the warnings of his logical mind. He would live for this moment alone.

“Each year the Federation creates an opportunity for new members to meet each other and share their experiences. During this time, there is heightened security and an effort to promote peace through open dialogue and the sharing of gifts.” 

“The Bumenthal Conference.”

“Yes. Exactly. In its third iteration, the Federation sent seventeen Ambassadors and Deputy Ambassadors, along with a staff of thirty-nine assistants. The security details were quite impressive and the location, on Verga 6, was ideal. The Enterprise, as the flagship of the Federation, was assigned to provide both security and diplomatic support. Admiral Pike and I were instrumental in negotiating treaties with seven of the seventeen new Federation members.”

“Wow,” Jim interjected. Spock glanced over to see Jim’s chin tucked against his knees. He continued.

“The Giollian delegation insisted on bringing an extremely rare and powerful gem, the Dernivia Stone, to the conference. It was transported with an armada of smaller fighters that nearly overwhelmed the capacity of the spaceport at Verga 6. The armada was contained, but it took more resources than the Federation and accompanying support of Starfleet had predicted. It was stressful for much of the crew, many of whom did not sleep through the duration of the three-day conference.”

“On the last day of the conference, alarms sounded across the facility. The Dernivia Stone had been stolen.”

Spock glanced at Jim but his face was shielded. He continued once more.

“The crew performed admirably to discover the culprits, but it was impossible to determine who had stolen it. Several hours before the Giollian delegation was set to depart back to their homeworld, the Enterprise detected several Klingon Birds of Prey. The Enterprise, with Captain Pike aboard, moved to engage. I was instructed to board a shuttle with five Ambassadors and proceed to the pre-arranged secure location on the southern continent. My shuttle was shot down by the Klingons and I was captured. Two of the Ambassadors were killed in the crash, while the other three were inexplicably ignored.”

“Fuck,” Jim murmured and Spock blinked in surprise.

“Jim? Are you all right?”

Jim groaned and threw himself back to lie flat out on the sand. “Spock. Spock. Spock. Fuck.”

“Jim, please explain.” Spock felt alarm rush up his spine.

“I was there. Goddamnit.” Jim sprung to his feet. “Fuckers.” He paced erratically, muttering to himself. “Goddamn Marcus. I swear. I am going to have his fucking head.”

Spock rose, too, approaching Jim cautiously. “Jim, please. Tell me what has happened.”

Jim stopped, and raked a hand through his hair. “I was there, at the conference. My crew. Damnit. My crew, Spock. We took the damn gem.”

Spock simply gaped, unable to comprehend what he was saying. 

Jim planted his feet and faced Spock. “Section got strong intel that the Klingons were going to steal the gem. We were instructed to steal it first to keep it out of enemy hands. And we did, Spock.”

Words formed slowly, then he spoke them, “Your team stole the gem. You knew of the Klingon threat?”

“I didn't know they'd attacked anyway.” Jim started to pace again. “Spock, we were out of there well before the last day of the conference. Marcus told us he'd warn the Enterprise. Goddamnit. He told me to my face the Federation delegates would be warned.” Jim stopped, his face full of outrage. 

“We were never informed.” Spock’s voice was flat. His resulting torture and disability might have been prevented.

Jim grabbed Spock’s biceps. “What did they do, Spock? What did they do to your beautiful brain?”

Yanking himself away, Spock turned to stare at the shoreline. He could not fathom how Starfleet could be so negligent. And Jim. Unexpected rage and sorrow filled him. His life had been ruined. He felt himself sink to the sand.

“God, Spock. I’m sorry.” Jim sat across from him, hands tightly grasping Spock’s thighs. 

“I was tortured for three-point-seven days. The Klingon mindsifter is quite thorough.”

“Fuck.”

“I managed to retain my sanity through level six. I am unaware of any being who has resisted such. Apparently my unique brain structure aided in my abilities. I am, of course, permanently disabled from the experience.” Spock’s tone was flat and emotionless. He stared blankly at the sand, barely aware of Jim’s presence.

“Spock, I’m so sorry — I don’t even know what to say. I can’t believe this.” Jim squeezed Spock’s thighs. “Help me bring him down. We can do this together. We have enough evidence. His actions resulted in you losing your career, Spock. Losing your mind control. We have to do something.”

Barely aware of Jim’s words, Spock disengaged himself and rose to his feet. “I must return home, Jim. It was pleasurable to see you. I am gratified by your recovery. I must ask you not to follow. I must meditate.”

Jim said nothing, but Spock felt his hand briefly on his shoulder as he passed. By the time Spock returned home, he was thoroughly and completely numb.


	5. Chapter 5

“Spock, he’s left you six messages. You could at least honor the guy with a reply.”

Spock raised his chin. “I see no purpose in replying. Each message contains an apology and request for assistance. I believe I have already provided adequate assistance to Mr. Kirk.”

“Goddamnit, Spock. You’re as stubborn as a one-eyed grandma with a bottle of Jack,” Leonard emanated waves of frustration and irritation. 

Spock simply stared at the man, unmoved by his theatrics.

“It wasn’t his fault. He took orders just like the rest of us. His commander happened to be that snake, Marcus. Slimy bastard. Not only did he nearly start a war with the Klingons, but he also cost you your career, and nearly killed Jim Kirk. He needs to be stopped, so stop your ever-loving pouting and help the man. I don’t give a rat’s ass how much it burns, just do it.” By the end of his diatribe, Leonard was standing over Spock, fists on his hips.

Spock cringed at the volume of his emotions. “Please, Leonard,” Spock said, raising a hand to ward him away.

“Shit. Sorry. You’ve got me so upset I forget myself.” Leonard moved to the other side of the room and breathed slowly. “Well, you sure are good for improving my anger management skills.”

Leonard was calm and quiet for a few long minutes and Spock considered his words. 

“I understand your point, Leonard. I agree that Admiral Marcus should be prosecuted, but I am uncertain how my injury would benefit the case. Mr. Kirk has enough important information to strip the man of his command.”

“But you’re Vulcan, Spock. You can’t lie and everyone knows it. Hell, I bet it wouldn’t even get to a tribunal. Just knowing that you were affected and would tell the absolute truth — that’d make a guilty man quake in his boots.”

Spock gave a decidedly human sigh. “You make a good argument, Leonard. If a public appearance could be avoided, I would be more likely to acquiesce.”

“Then do it. Or at least take it as far as you can. If you get to the point of a tribunal, we’ll figure it out then. Nothing has to happen without your permission. You’re a private citizen now, Spock. They can’t touch you.”

Raising a brow, Spock answered, “They are ruthless, Leonard. I believe they could seek revenge and I am uncertain I want to live my life in fear of reprisals.”

“I get it. I really do. I think that would suck, but I guess I think it’s the right thing to do. He’s responsible for your career, your isolation. Hell, all you get is a damn crotchety doctor yelling at you all the time. That’s no kind of life.” Leonard’s face was pained. “It’s just not fair.”

Spock felt his resolve fade. “No, Leonard. It is not fair. It has never been fair. It stands to reason that others have also been harmed by the Admiral’s covert operations. It is likely that another secondary victim of their operations could further ensure the Admiral’s dismissal.”

“It’s worth a shot.” Leonard seemed relieved. 

“Very well. I will respond to Mr. Kirk’s next message.”

~*~

Events moved quickly after his message to Jim. The two had talked on a secure channel and made a plan to meet. Admiral Pike would attend as well, giving Spock some semblance of distance from the man who engendered such difficult and mixed feelings inside Spock.

“Spock, it’s so good to see you. You look great.” Admiral Pike stepped cautiously through the front door of Spock’s house and shook off an umbrella. He was dressed casually in a dark brown leather jacket, white shirt, and jeans. His hair had grayed substantially, but he was still a handsome man.

“Thank you, Admiral. Please come inside.” Spock said from across the room. He eased back even more to lessen the Admiral’s thoughts, but he sensed his emotions clearly: pleasure, curiosity, concern, sorrow, purpose. 

“Is this okay?” Pike asked, well aware of Spock’s needs.

“It is adequate. I apologize in advance for my knowledge of your thoughts and feelings. I will attempt to ignore them.”

“You’re fine, Spock. I’ve got nothing to hide from you.” Pike looked around. “Place looks good. Must be nice living here. Quiet.”

“Yes, it is quite pleasant. May I offer you a beverage?”

“No, thanks. I had a drink on the shuttle. Jim here yet?”

“I expect him shortly. Please have a seat.” He motioned to the sofa and took an armchair across the room. 

“So, I don’t have details, Spock, but I’m intrigued. What can you tell me?” 

“It appears that Mr. Kirk took part in a covert operation at the Blumenthal Conference that has bearing on my capture and torture by the Klingons.”

“He what?” Pike jerked his head to clear it. “I don’t know anything about a covert operation at Blumenthal.” 

“— That’s what ‘covert’ means, Admiral. _Secret._ ” Jim Kirk’s amused voice sounded through the screen as he opened the sunroom door.

“Holy, hell. Jim Kirk.” Pike jumped to his feet and approached Jim, who was peeling off a rain jacket. His hair was short again, not quite military, but it enhanced the sharpness of his cheekbones. His eyes blazed with delight as he wiped rain off his face.

“Hello, sir. It’s good to see you,” Jim answered. Spock sensed genuine warmth and regard between the men. Pike’s relief was notable, even without empathic abilities. 

The two men embraced then Pike held him out by the arms. “You are a sight for sore eyes. Nine years, Jim. Not a word. Not a single goddamn word to let me know you were alive?”

“I’m sorry, sir. I couldn’t. I’ve violated a lot of rules in my life, but that’s not one I could screw up. Would have put my crew in danger.”

Pike nodded wryly, stepping back. “No, you’re right. I’m sure you’ve done good work for them.”

Jim glanced over at Spock, wariness around his eyes. “Hey, Spock. Good to see you.” 

“And you, Mr. Kirk. Please have a seat.” Spock made sure his voice was neutral, despite his pounding heart. He had not expected to react to Jim so strongly. He could not tell if it was anger, upset, or excitement. In all likelihood, it was all three.

“Sure. How you been, Admiral?” Jim asked, facing Pike on the sofa.

“Call me, Chris. You, too, Spock. You’re both civilians now. And friends.” Pike’s eyes crinkled along with his warm smile. Spock was reminded of his diplomatic skill.

“Let’s get down to business,” Pike said, directing his words to Jim. “Spock tells me you were part of a covert op at the Blumenthal Conference. I’m guessing it has something to do with the Dernivia Stone, right? Never made sense how it was stolen but inexplicably returned a week later to the Giollian homeworld.”

“Yeah. You always were one step ahead of me.”

“Lucky guess, Jim. Tell me what happened.”

Spock listened as the pair discussed the events at the conference, sensing their continued mutual respect and friendship. He thought errantly about how Jim would have fit into Pike’s crew, their possible camaraderie and friendship, maybe more, if he were honest.

“So, back then, I confronted Marcus about the warning and he said it would be done. So, I let it go. There’s not much you can do when an Admiral tells you something. I had too much on the line to argue. My crew needed me, so I just kept going.”

“Makes sense, Jim. Is that all of it?” Pike glanced at Spock.

Spock looked at Jim. “Perhaps, it would be wise to give the Admiral information about your brain implant. It could be more leverage.”

Jim gave Spock a smile and addressed Pike once more, sharing the same story he shared with Spock many weeks ago.

“Damn Marcus,” Pike said, then sat heavily back against the sofa cushion. “Every year, his budget gets bigger. Every year, more rumors about new technology, dangerous technology. But to what end? What does he want?” 

“War with the Klingons, sir,” Jim answered.

“Come again?” Pike looked at the two of them.

“He thinks Starfleet’s gone soft. He doesn’t believe in diplomacy with the Klingons. He believes it will only end if the Federation defeats them in battle.”

“That’s ridiculous. We’ve never been this close before. Some are predicting peace within five years. Hell, I’ve personally negotiated with the Klingons and it is possible.”

“Not to Marcus. He wants to lead a military operation, but he can’t get the support, so I think he sabotages the Federation's efforts to make peace with the Klingons. I assume you’ve heard of the Fireze Collapse.”

“Of course. Wait, you were there?” Pike rubbed his forehead.

“No, sir, not me. But he had a team on the ground.” Jim glanced at Spock, then back to Pike.

“Shit. All right. I’m convinced. He needs to go down. What do you have in mind?”

~*~

Spock’s anxiety grew as the pieces of the plan began to fall into place. An official team of investigators had come to Spock’s residence to interview him. Leonard had been interviewed as well, advising the investigators about Spock’s condition and his prognosis. The doctor had also provided detailed medical records from the moment Spock had come aboard the Enterprise unconscious, all the way through his last examination two weeks prior. Although he thought it impossible, Spock’s esteem for the doctor’s skill, as shown by his thoroughness, rose even more. 

After four hours, the team left his home and Spock slumped back onto the sofa. 

“What do you need, Spock, besides me out of your hair?” Leonard asked from across the room.

“I will be fine, Leonard. Even a non-disabled being would be exhausted. They were quite thorough, were they not?”

“Sure were. I heard some things there that I hadn’t ever heard before. I never realized the things the Klingons _hadn’t_ asked you.”

“Yes, information that Marcus could have provided was exempt from the questioning. I had not realized it at the time.”

“Do you want a dampener? Painkiller? Sedative?”

“No, thank you, Leonard. I simply need to meditate. I appreciate your presence, as always. I am grateful for you.”

Leonard made a face. “Watch it now. Don’t go gettin’ all mushy on me.” Spock sensed his returned affection under the gruff tone.

The doctor cleared his throat. “Okay, I’m off then. I told Joanna if I was done early enough, we could see a movie. She’ll be happy.”

“She is lucky to have you, Leonard.” Spock allowed himself a small smile.

“All right. You definitely need to meditate.” Leonard chuckled. “I’ll give you a call tomorrow. Get some rest.”

“I will, Leonard. Thank you.”

Spock sat for many minutes after the sounds of Leonard’s car faded. He reviewed the material in his deposition and felt satisfied he had recalled every relevant detail. He could never adequately portray the searing pain he’d experience and the near-crippling onslaught of physical torture, but his words were adequate enough. Should it be required, Healer T’Val could offer evidence as to the condition of his mind. She had read his experiences and would hold them in her eidetic memory until she died.

“Damnit!” Spock heard faintly outside on the deck. He startled and sat up to look around. He detected no emotions or thoughts and saw no one.

“Sorry, Spock,” Jim Kirk said and appeared in the doorway. 

“Mr. Kirk. What are you doing here?” Spock stood, surprise making his heart race.

“Just making sure you were okay today.” Jim spoke through the screen door.

“Please come in. It is illogical to stand outside.”

“Uh, okay. Listen, I didn’t mean to disturb you. I stepped on a nail or something. I think I’m bleeding.”

Spock shook his head in surprise. “I’ll get the medkit.”

By the time Spock returned, Jim had settled himself on a hard chair and had removed his boot. “These civilian boots are never as good as Starfleet issue. I should have swiped a pair.”

“Stealing is unwise,” Spock said, feigning judgment.

Jim chuckled and held up the bloodied foot. “Well, I wouldn't be dealing with this. Looks like it just grazed the side. I’ve been immunized, so I’m good for tetanus.”

“Would you like me to clean it for you? Or you may do it yourself. It might be difficult to reach.”

“I’ve got it. Hand me the disinfectant and some gauze, please.”

Spock watched him for a few minutes as he applied an effective field dressing. Afterward, he tidied up the area and limped into the kitchen to throw away the waste. 

Upon his return, Spock had the nail and boot in his hands. “I believe this has been stuck in your boot for some time and became dislodged. It is fortunate you were close to medical attention.” Spock smirked slightly.

“Yeah, some covert operative, right?” Jim laughed. “Do you mind if I sit?”

“Of course not, Jim. Can I offer you a beverage?”

“No, I’m good.” Jim avoided Spock’s eyes by looking around the room.

“How long have you been here, Jim? Near my residence?” Spock asked. He wasn’t sure if he should be angry or flattered.

Jim finally met Spock’s gaze, but answered somewhat hesitantly. “I followed the team down from New York. Wanted to make sure they weren’t interfered with. Marcus is still in command and I don’t want you getting hurt.” Jim blushed and looked down at his bandaged foot. 

“I appreciate your efforts, Jim. It is a delicate time.” Spock found himself to be unexpectedly touched by Jim’s actions.

“Yeah. I mean, I feel like I should have asked, but…” Jim ran a hand through his hair, uncut since their visit five weeks prior. “I guess I wasn’t sure you wanted to talk to me again, let alone see me.”

Spock hesitated only for a moment before answering. “That is not the case, Jim.” Spock was not sure why, but it was true. 

“Oh, okay. I mean, I fucked up your life, Spock. My team, Marcus, the Klingons. Look at you. You’re cooped up in this place. I — I guess it just breaks my heart.” Jim seemed to stop himself from saying more and resolutely picked at his fingernails.

“Jim,” Spock said, tone soft. “I have thought much about your role in my injuries. I find that despite my initial anger, I am no longer angry.” He paused. “Some part of me wants to continue to be angry at you, to punish you for the actions of your team, but there is no logic in it. Even in emotion, logic has a part.”

Jim sat still as Spock continued. “While your participation in the team is related to my capture, an infinite number of other possible outcomes could have occurred without you ever changing a single action. What happened, happened, and there is no logic in going over it in my mind. It is in the past. I do not blame you, Jim.”

“You sure? Because I sure do.” Jim pounded his knee. “You — I just feel so bad, Spock. Of all the things I’ve been part of, all the slimy missions Marcus sent us on, this one stings the most. I don’t really know how to stop thinking about what they did to you.” 

“It is over, Jim. _Kaiidth_. What is, is.” Spock’s words solidified an as-yet confirmed acceptance inside himself. He was truly ready now to allow the past to settle in the past.

But Jim shook his head. “I’m glad for you, Spock. But I guess for me, it’s kind of just beginning. I have a lot to think about, so many missions that I don’t understand the consequences of. I just kept going, Spock. People really got hurt and I didn’t even know. I wish you hadn’t been one of them.” Jim’s eyes filled with unexpected tears.

Without much thought, Spock moved to sit next to him on the sofa. Jim blinked in surprise.

“You are a gift to me, Jim Kirk. I had not seen it until just now. You came into my life to heal me, although I had not been able to see how that was possible. I had been denying my emotions related to the torture. I used my Vulcan skills to keep my mind at peace. It worked, but it was not true healing. For that, I needed resolution. I had not thought anything could ease my pain, but you were right. Marcus needed to be stopped and if it were not for you and Doctor McCoy, I would not have acted. That would have become an unrecoverable regret.”

“No, Spock. I ruined your life. Don’t say nice things to me.” Jim slumped back against the cushions, and put his arm over his eyes.

For a long moment, Spock was not certain how to proceed. It had been so many years since he had offered physical comfort that some part of him rebelled. He was instinctively afraid of the pain and chaos of others’ emotions and thoughts. With Jim, however, the implant made it safe. Jim was safe.

Slowly, he reached out to touch Jim’s face with the back of his knuckles. “I am here for you, Jim.”

“God, Spock. Where did you come from. I’m such a broken mess of a man and there’s not a goddamn thing wrong with me. You — you struggle so much and you’re ten times the man I am.” Tears started to flow down Jim’s face. Spock suspected a much deeper source of pain than his empathy for Spock. This hardened soldier had been unwittingly responsible for injuring others.

Gently, Spock turned Jim to face him and drew him into his arms. Sobs wracked Jim’s body as Spock held on as tightly as Jim needed. He couldn’t sense his feeling through his telepathy or empathic abilities, but he knew. Inexplicably, he knew exactly what this man needed, and for as long as he was able, he would provide it.

After many long minutes, Jim sniffed loudly in Spock’s ear and drew back. “I’m sorry. What a mess.” He rubbed at Spock’s wet shoulder. “I’m sorry, Spock. I came here to protect you, not fall apart on you.”

Jim stood, inhaling deeply and wiping his face. “I need some air.” He hobbled out the door and onto the deck. He disappeared around the corner and Spock gave him some space to think while he made tea.

Twenty minutes later, Spock carried a tray to the widest part of the deck, where he had a table and chairs overlooking the ocean. He moved a chair to sit next to Jim.

“How are you, Jim?” Spock asked as he poured tea.

“Better, thanks. I guess I didn’t know I had that all bottled up inside.” Jim sniffed again.

“Emotions are difficult. I know from experience.” Spock allowed humor to seep into his voice.

“I bet…” Jim chuckled a little and Spock was gratified.

After handing Jim a cup of tea, Spock settled back in his own chair. The sun was far behind the house and the sky was settling into dusk. 

“I have found this view immensely calming,” Spock said, sipping his tea.

“It is beautiful,” Jim answered.

“It has offered me peace and healing.” Spock said, then looked at Jim. “Perhaps it could offer you the same.” The words tumbled out unexpectedly, but after he said them, Spock sensed their veracity. He wanted Jim in his life.

At Spock’s tone, Jim looked up, surprised. “No, Spock. I’m not staying. I shouldn’t even be here.”

Spock set his tea down and took Jim’s cup out of his hand. Certainty fueled his actions as he set aside the tea and drew himself closer to Jim. He reached out to hold the man’s two hands, feeling them shake as much as his own.

“Let me help you, Jim, as you have helped me.” Spock spoke sincerely, opening his heart. Everything inside him was drawn to Jim. 

“Spock…” Jim said, uncertainty and fear visible on his face. 

“While fate is an illogical concept to Vulcans, my human side appears to see our meeting differently. While our lives have intertwined in previously undesirable ways, what occurs now is undoubtedly right. Tell me you do not feel it.”

Jim blinked. “Yes, Spock. From the first moment. You saved me and I knew I could trust you.

“I have been alone enough, Jim Kirk, and for whatever time your implant gives us, I wish to keep you in my life.”

Jim snorted. “Oh, Spock. The implant’s permanent.”

Spock blinked, surprised. “Please explain.” 

“I went to Thibian-Goss Medical Center. They performed every scan they had. The implant _has_ moved, Spock. Turns out Marcus hadn't lied about that. It would kill me to remove it.”

Spock was torn between sudden elation and immense guilt. “Jim…”

“It’s okay, Spock. They said it’s safe. I’m fine, Spock. I don’t even know it’s there.”

“Jim, I am experiencing an unexpected delight in another’s suffering. I do not know how to proceed.”

Laughing, Jim said, “No, Spock. It’s good. If it means I can stay here and you’re okay. That’s what I want.” 

Jim leaned forward and pressed his lips chastely against Spock’s. 

“Yes, Jim. For as long as you like,” Spock said, and slid his arms around Jim’s neck. 

As their kiss deepened, Spock felt a sense of rightness inside himself. And if he were not mistaken, he would swear he sensed the same emanating from Jim, a deep and abiding connection answering his own. A long time later, when he disclosed this perception to Jim, he just laughed and tapped his head to indicate the implant. 

Spock, despite the illogic of it, believed it to be true anyway.

_Fin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I've enjoyed adapting this crazy scenario for Kirk and Spock. I'll soon be getting back to writing Unbreakable and pondering the epilogue for Change in Command. <3


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